I kept working because I wanted to finish what I’d begun, I suppose.
Only partially complete, it would have maybe worried me all day as to what the ending might be, I needed to finish.
I needed to treasure the whole thing, the pleasant dream that blessed me with blissful sleep past seven.
Oh, joy, I’ve slept til almost nine!
I dreamt I was living in my grandma’s house and it was all mine, the whole place.
It was standing tall and mine for the taking, for the living.
The room across the tiny hall from my grandma’s room, it was exactly the same as before.
The hall, like a bridge we were warned not to cross, just a little hollow place between, its occupants, the phone on the wall and the gas heater caused crowded passing through to the little bathroom congregating.
I was there again and I could hear the long clangy echo of a ring and my grandma answering to talk to maybe my mama, my aunt or one of her sisters.
She’d pull the long curly cord around the corner so she could see. She’d talk a long time sometimes.
But, it was mine in my dream, the whole place, last night. The place not standing now was there for me.
So, I set my mind on fixing up my granddaddy’s room, the one that seemed such a secret, his “Chester” drawers all piled with loose coins, papers and cigars, I started and I cleared and cleaned and made it fresh, different than before, a place to lie down and rest, inviting and bright.
A place I’d been afraid to pass through, it was mine to make new.
To make whole.